A Porthos Romance Bonus: The Experiment
by sfrost
Summary: After returning from Marseilles, Gerard pays Aramis a visit. The events of this story follow Chapter 27 from L'amante de Porthos. Mature content
1. Chapter 1

_[This story is dedicated to Joelle-Sama ;) ]_

_The events of this story tie in with the end of Chapter 27 of L'amante de Porthos._

_Mature content_

**An Experiment**

She came upstairs with two glasses of wine and handed one to Gerard who had resumed his position on the edge of the bed.

"You haven't slept in days, have you?" she remarked.

He shook his head and took a few sips of the wine, twirling the glass in his hand. He coughed.

"This is terrible."

"I'm a musketeer, not a duke."

He chuckled.

"I almost forgot…" he rose and went towards the corner of the room where he had deposited his travel sack. How had she not noticed that before? He could have had more weapons in there!

"More surprises?"

"You'll like this one, I promise." He grinned at her. He fished in his bag for a while. She could hear the sound of glass bottles tinkling against one another.

"Don't tell me you have wine in there?"

"Better! Ah, there it is!" he pulled out a small dark bottle that was tightly corked. He waved it at her and made his way over to her.

"What in God's name is this infamy?" her nose wrinkled in disgust as he opened the bottle, letting out a pungent odor.

"This, my dear Aramis, is a special tincture."

He put a few drops on his fingers and approached his hand to her face. She grimaced and slightly recoiled.

His charming smile seemed to calm her and she let him tend to the gashes on her face. They stood so close to one other, she could feel the warmth that was emanating from his body. The circular movement of his index finger on her face electrified her. But the feeling was short-lived because not long after, the tincture began to burn. She winced.

"Don't worry, it's supposed to do that. It helps accelerate the peeling of the skin to prevent any scarring," he said calmly, concentrating on the next gash.

"Did you make this?"

"I did. From an old recipe in my father's book. But I made my own personal tweaks to it," he grinned with pride.

"Was he an apothecary, your father?"

"A doctor, actually. There, we're all done."

His fingers lingered on her face, tracing invisible lines with his index fingers while his thumb hovered dangerously close to her lips, eliciting a tingling down her back towards her pelvic region. Her breath accelerated. Her eyes, half-closed, longingly stared at his lips. Those lips whose taste she once knew and now craved beyond anything. He was only a couple of inches taller than her, and they were so accessible. All she had to do was just extend herself but a millimeter and… But they had been down that road before, hadn't they? And it was clear that he was… that he wasn't…Which was it?

Despite herself, she turned her face ever so slightly and parted her lips so that his thumb moved along her lower lip. He could feel the moisture from her mouth. He wanted to drink her lips, to taste her again, he wanted to know. He swallowed with difficulty. How was this possible? All these years and he thought he could only be aroused by men. And yet here was this woman, with the most androgynous absolutely mesmerizing presence he had ever seen and probably ever will see. Was he attracted to the musketeer Aramis? Or to the mysterious woman behind Aramis? Her body seemed to naturally call out to him, even after he had discovered her true nature.

"I didn't come back just for Marianne, you know," he whispered.

"Oh?"

Their eyes locked and he could see the desire burning in hers. It ignited him beyond anything he could have imagined.

"You're the first woman that I ever felt this way about…and I don't know if it's you or… or the musketeer you pretend to be," he went on. He had to tell her the truth. As he said those words, she, too, questioned herself.

"It's just that, I hadn't been able to stop thinking about you. Even after everything was said and done," he went on.

_Me neither_, she thought. But did she truly love him? Or was this just a passing fancy like Porthos had said?

Only one way to find out.

"What I'm trying to say is… _je veux essayer_…"

Nothing more needed to be said. She pulled him rudely by the waist, her pelvis clashing into his, sending a shockwave through his being. Her lips urgently pressed onto his and he parted his mouth to let her explore him. How delicious and sweet it was! He could feel her tongue moving ardently with such force and determination. For a moment, he wanted to lose himself in this sensation. In the sensation to be completely possessed by this goddess. But before long, his body began to react and prompted him to wrap his arms around her, bringing her even closer to him so that he can begin to explore her. Their tongues danced in a back-and-forth movement, each one taking turns in allowing the other the privilege to penetrate and explore the other's mouth.

With her strong hands still fixed on his waist, she turned him around such that the dresser was now behind him. He lightly reclined on it, putting himself at a slightly shorter height than hers, reveling in her tall and grand figure. He looked up at her with such admiration and longing.

With his hand behind her neck, he pulled her to him rudely and they continued to embrace heatedly.

Her hands hurriedly pulled out his chemise that was tucked into his pantaloons and she slid them underneath. He moaned gently as he felt the contact of her hands on his bare skin. Her fingers moved up and down his chest, getting a feel of the terrain. They lingered on his nipples and she pressed on them lightly. He groaned through their kisses. He reclined further onto the dresser and she followed, pressing her pelvis onto his lap, as her legs stood one on either side of his waist. As she began to feel his erection underneath her, she sighed with pleasure. He was responding to her, to her caresses, to her desire. He wanted her too. Oh, all she wanted was to rip all the clothes and unite herself with him. Her body moved lasciviously on his crotch.

She crumpled his shirt in her hands and began to lift it up. It was almost off when she felt a slight resistance from him.

And then she realized.

There was the mark of the cross burnt on his chest, the one he had shown her before. He was embarrassed, she could tell. Up until now, she had been under the impression that he was a man with considerable experience in this aspect but she wasn't sure anymore. His prudish ways, his delicate personality and the trauma in his past had probably prevented him from ever trying. Just like her. And it dawned on her that this could just be his first time. She slowed down. Should she keep going? Is this how he wanted it? But he would not have come here, nor lingered for so long if he hadn't.

Sensing her hesitation, he took over and removed his chemise, discarding it casually on the floor. She stared at him and he stared back in a quiet defiance. Defiance that was not directed at her, but at confronting his own shame. He stood up. Now he was taller than her, more imposing.

The sight of his bare chest took her breath away: he was absolutely gorgeous! He was muscular but in a lean way. He was athletic, nimble, he had developed the small muscles in the body, which could be seen protruding from his forearms and from his abdomen. And then there were these gorgeous undulations on his lower abdomen that pointed downwards. Downwards towards his crotch.

"Aramis," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"_Gardez votre pourpoint… ,_" he blushed as he said this. But she understood.

He wasn't ready to confront her femininity just yet. But she didn't care. She wanted to devour him, to melt within him. He was hers.

She attacked him once more. Her tongue tracing a line from his neck, down to his chest. She did not leave a spot untouched. She wanted to worship his body. Wherever her lips did not go, her hands went and vice versa until she could no longer find a place she hadn't explored. Meanwhile, his senses were on fire; he sighed and groaned in harmony with where she touched him. He was losing control and any last shreds of prudence he had had were about to be severed.

Her hand finally rested on the one place that had been neglected this whole time. The one place that had been throbbing, crying out for her touch for her body. She straightened up to face him. She could see beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. Slowly and tantalizingly, while she held his gaze, she began to pull on the strings of his pantaloons and culotte until one by one, they came undone and she slid them down. He groaned and shivered as the air caressed his now naked sex.

For a moment, she was mesmerized, her breath completely taken away by what was revealed: it was spectacular, as if sculpted from the same divinity that formed the rest of his body.

Her hand encircled it. _Good God_! How good it felt in her hand. He groaned loudly upon her touch and she was electrified by the control she had over this man. This man who had obsessively occupied her fantasies of late but who had been otherwise unattainable.

Her hand glided on it in a back-and-froth movement. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. His palms held on to the dresser, his nails digging into the wood. He was beyond intoxicated.

She closed the distance between them once more and kissed him ever so slowly, lingering on his lower lip, drawing yet another throaty groan.

"Take me," she whispered.

"Take me like a man."

...

His eyes flit wide open. Did he hear what he thought he heard? That could only mean one thing.

He swallowed with difficulty. Once with a young man in the village, Gerard had tried, but his docile nature had prevented him. He had never tried again. Yet now, with this "travestie" who was both man and woman, at least to him. No, he couldn't… could he?

She disengaged from him and walked decidedly towards the bed. She stopped and threw a glance at him over her shoulder as she faced the bed.

As if in a daze, he followed her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He began to kiss her neck, his hands traveling to her pantaloons, undoing the laces. Gently, he bent her over on the bed and lowered her pants. She shivered at the thought of being so completely exposed to him, completely offered to him in that way. But she had never been more curious. She had never gone this far with Athos. It was different with him. The first months were spent initiating her to the art of love, exploring each other gradually. They hadn't had the opportunity to reach this stage.

Gerard held his breath as he took in the sight of her bottom. So perfectly round and firm. So… feminine and delicate.

He didn't know what to do. He placed his palms on her cheeks and she sighed at the contact. He moved them lasciviously up and down before his left hand slid down to her sex.

"Ahhh," she moaned, crumbling the sheet underneath her.

He continued to feel around, exploring. Gosh, it was warm and… moist. They had never mentioned that in any of his anatomy or medical books. Female sexuality was always a very cold medical topic.

He continued rubbing her sex up and down, albeit clumsily, until his finger was lubricated enough and he inserted it in her rear.

"Oh God!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. She wanted more.

His hands began to tremble. He began to panic. What should he do? He didn't want to hurt her or disappoint her. She was ever so delicate.

He quickly removed his finger, grabbed her waist and knelt over her, whispering, "I can't, I'm sorry."

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

They lay side to side on the bed, catching their breath. She could feel his sex on her behind growing more flaccid by the minute.

She turned to him, her cheeks flushed red, a look of determination in her eyes. No, she wasn't done yet.

With a mischievous smile she said,"_Alors, laissez-moi vous donner du plaisir_."

Swiftly, she moved her body on top of his and resumed her ardent exploration of his body. Starting with his mouth, going down his neck and tracing a warm moist line with her tongue through the middle of his perfectly proportioned chest while her hands pinched his nipples, eliciting a pleasurable groan from him.

A paralyzing wave of electricity shot through his body as he felt her tongue descend on his pubic region as her hand reacquainted itself with his sex.

Before he could say anything or react, he felt his sex being plunged into a warm and moist environment. He glanced down to see the beautiful mouth of this divine musketeer completely wrapped around his erection.

"_Bonsang, Aramis_!" he exclaimed.

He leaned his head back and brought his hands to his face. He was barely able to catch his breath. Never had he felt so powerless, so helpless. Yet he wanted more, he would surrender absolutely anything to this tantalizing warrior goddess so long as she didn't stop.

He glanced down at his crotch to see her mouth move up and down, completely full with his phallus, her golden locks framing her face, making her seem ever more like a fantasy than a reality. Dear God, was this heaven?! Whether she was man or woman no longer mattered.

"_Mon dieu, n'arretez pas_!" he breathed.

He reached his hand down and stroked her hair, pulling it to one side and removing the ribbon that held it together. It came cascading down in golden waves, caressing his nude thighs.

She closed her lips tighter around him and with the help of her hand, she continued with her movement, increasing her speed and putting more of a focus on the tip. She wanted to give him pleasure, to make him lose himself to her.

It was all too much and he was about to explode. She knew he was close and she was prepared. She had done this before with Athos and she now knew what to do. She will take it all in.

She took him in as far and as deep as she could, while her hand moved in tandem along his shaft. She could feel him tremble. He had taken a fistful of her hair, to hold her head in place. Yes, he was close, very close. His back reflexed and… here it comes...

...

Her eyes widened when instead, with all the control he could gather, he pulled her up and without knowing exactly how he did it, he flipped her onto her chest, and she found herself once more in the same position as before: on all fours.

He anchored his hands on her waist, bringing her rear higher up to him, he passed his fingers in a long and deliberate motion from her sex towards her rear, transferring her natural fluid for lubrication. With his other hand, he continued to stroke his own sex until he couldn't take it anymore. He gently pulled apart her cheeks and lost himself inside her.

"OOHHHH GOOODDD!"

He went slowly and gradually. Her eyes shot wide open and she released such a guttural and carnal groan on his entry. She gripped the sheets underneath her tightly. It was painful but the pain was strangely pleasurable, a different kind of pleasure… a forbidden one, all the more delicious and erotic.

And oh God, the pressure that came with the feeling of his sex inside her made her aware of new places in her body that pulsated with pleasure.

"_Encore_," she whispered, out of breath.

It didn't take long. The next thrust was easier and quicker and with a few more, he exploded inside of her.

She could feel his warm fluid slide down in between her cheeks, down to her sex where it mixed with hers.

He collapsed on top of her, completely spent, drenched in his sweat and gasping for air.

...

They fell together side by side, her back turned to him. She, too, felt spent. All the muscles in her body had tirelessly worked in those few minutes to support her weight under the pressure he exerted on her. And now, everything in her felt lighter and more relaxed. She could feel herself melting into the bed and into the warm body behind her, and with it, all the cares of the last few weeks dissolved away along with the tension that had drew them to each other since the very first moment.

"Oh God, oh God. I'm sorry, forgive me. I'm sorry. I lost control…"

His arms held her so tightly she thought she was going to break a rib. He was trembling.

She disengaged from him, and turned around, switching their positions, holding him in her arms instead as he gently wept. His head rested on her chest, which was completely drenched in sweat thanks to the bandages and the heavy doublet she still wore. He was simply overcome by the experience.

She kissed the top of his head with tenderness.

"There is nothing to forgive, my darling," she soothed him, "_Moi aussi, je voulais essayer. Et c'était si bon.._"

He looked up at her to see a twinkle in her eyes and a smirk on her face. How pretty and seductive she looked with her disheveled hair and her pink cheeks. Instinctively, he put his hand behind her neck and deposited a passionate kiss on her lips. She was overcome by the weight and ardour of his kiss, she lay back on her back.

"Remove your doublet, _montrez-moi_."

She was surprised at his request and it made her nervous. Would he turn away from her if he saw what was underneath? Would it bluntly shatter this perfect fantasy they had built together? And yet, she obeyed.

He watched her as she removed the doublet first and then sat up to remove her chemise. She began undoing the knot on her bandages when he stopped her. The sight of them made him cringe. How ugly they were and how sad it was that they were necessary. To have to hide one's sex, one's very defining features…

He ran his fingers on them and then began unwrapping her like a delicate present.

As the last piece of tissue fell away, he gently reclined her on her back again. While before, she felt like she was in control and held all the power, now she felt vulnerable and feeble; she was suddenly more conscious of her femininity than ever before – and not in the best of ways, but in a shameful way. Her arms instinctively went to her chest and covered her breasts. She couldn't look at him.

He stroked her forehead and kissed her tenderly as he brought his hands to hers and carefully moved them away from her chest.

"Let go, it's just me," he smiled at her. He glanced at the whole of her body, now completely nude.

He couldn't help it; it took his breath away. She was glorious. Her body was like a broken vase that had been repeatedly glued back together: battle scars here and there, a burn, a stab, a blade, even a bullet. Heavens! How could someone so seemingly fragile and delicate as this nymph be so resilient and hard?

He could see her chest move up and down with anticipation and he knew he was in control now. They had both shed their armours and were now just two souls swimming in each other's vulnerability. And she had entrusted him with hers – a high honor, he thought to himself.

His eyes finally landed and fixated on the red marks left behind by the bandages.

He lowered his head to her chest and began kissing the skin where the marks had been, as if his kisses would take away the pain this choice had caused her all these years. As if it would somehow ease the loneliness she had had to endure. As if it would turn back time and restore to her that which cannot be restored.

She wasn't expecting this gesture. But this devotion he was showering her with melted her heart and it was all she could to hold back her tears. As if sensing her body tense up, he brought his face to hers again and repeated, "Let go, it's just me."

The tears came streaming down her face, silently. And as they came, he was there to wipe them away.

He pressed his lips onto hers in slow sweet kisses that gradually increased in ardour and urgency.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer.

He detached from her lips and began caressing her neck with his tongue, moving down in between her breasts and going further…and further…and further….

Aramis sighed in anticipation. Was he really going to...?

Oh, he was.

He gently parted her legs and introduced his head between them.

He hesitated at first. What strange machinery the female sex was! Oh, but he was intrigued. He had heard stories and had heard Marianne discuss her solo activities - sometimes with even more detail than he had ever hoped to know.

He brought his fingers to the lips of her sex, moving them back and forth in between the folds.

"Ahhhh," she sighed.

He continued to explore, touching her in certain ways and observing her reaction. She would moan a certain way, or cringe a certain way or arch her back a certain way according to where and how he touched her.

There was that one spot that, when he kept circling around, she would cry out in such pleasure, so he charted it in his mind's eye as the place to come back to. But for now, he wanted to explore that elusive path that led to the very inside of her body.

He continued to move around until she parted her legs slightly more and he pulled her sex slightly up and there, he could see it. He could no longer resist. His hand was completely soaked with her fluid at this point, something he found so arousing and fascinating. With the help of this natural lubrication, he slid one finger inside of her and she gasped.

"Ohhh!"

What happens if he tried two?

"Ohhh God!"

Three?

"Ahhhhhhh! Gerard!"

Hmmm… he smirked to himself and began imitating a back-and-forth movement, each time switching from two to three fingers. This was driving her insane, he could tell. Her moans became louder and her body instinctively followed the movement of his fingers, bringing itself even closer to him, drawing him deeper inside of her. _Good God_! What a sight!

He was mesmerised by the way she tilted her head back and gripped the sheets which were now soaking with their sweat and fluids. The ever so poised and reserved musketeer Aramis was utterly and completely out of control. And at his mercy no less.

He lowered his head to her sex and began licking her lasciviously. She cried out even more, louder and more urgent.

"_Ahhh, Gérard...N'arretez pas, je vous en prie_!"

The sound of his name in her mouth was intoxicating. He kept going, making sure his tongue was circling that one spot, as he heard her call his name again and again, begging for him. Her hand gripped his head and automatically forced him further into her.

He wanted to give her all the pleasure in the world. Her moans became shriller. It was a new sound; she was almost seizing under his touch now. As his tongue passed on that round cherry-like spot in her sex one last time, her back arched deeply, her legs reflexively closed in around his head and she exploded, screaming out with sheer ecstasy, her fluid spilling deliciously in his mouth.

He was stupefied. Never in his life had he thought he would witness a female orgasm. Let alone be responsible for it. But he was completely enraptured by this divine creature.

He came back up to her, plunging his eyes into hers. She looked so spent and ravished and for the first time, he felt a carnal desire to take her as a woman. With her eyes half closed, her cheeks red and pink, her forehead glistening her body completely relaxed, she put her arms around his neck and their lips met once again with ferocity.

He moved himself on top of her and, just as when he had kissed her for the first time by the edge of the lake, he parted her legs with his torso and moved in between them. Then, possessed by this unknown carnal force, he slid his sex inside of her.

"Ahhhhhh! Oh, Gerard!" she cried out once more.

How good it felt! How satisfying after all the fantasies, all the wait…

…and yet, it wasn't like it was with Athos.

They continued to embrace as he moved inside of her in the same rhythm.

After some time, he found himself unable to get to the finish line so he slowed down. She could feel him soften inside of her.

He was afraid she was going to recoil, to reject him. Instead, she held him closer, her kisses becoming more tender than carnal. And they came to a premature but still satisfying halt.


	3. Chapter 3

He held her hand in his, occasionally bringing it up closer to his face to admire the mix of delicateness and roughness in its creases before he would touch her fingers to his lips.

The room was now dark since the candle had gone out. They could hear the patter of the rain outside. There was nowhere else he would rather be but the urgency of the situation he had found himself in began to gnaw at him. Marianne was out there somewhere. The Comte had been kidnapped by the Iron Mask and his people and God knows what kind of destructive invention he was currently making for them.

He let out a big sigh.

As if reading his thoughts, the young blonde musketeer propped herself up on her elbow and stroked his chest.

"We'll find them both, don't worry," she deposited a few light kisses on his shoulder.

He returned her gesture with a faint smile. She could see his forehead wrinkle with worry. He was endearing and adorable. Like a little boy concerned over a pet animal. Except the "pet" in question was not a pet. It was a woman, and Aramis was beginning to see that this young lady occupied a very special and irreplaceable place in his heart. At first, she thought his concern and attachment were just an expression of duty, but it was much deeper. It was a friendship turned into a solid fraternity. Something she understood oh so well. Her heart ached once more. What happened to Porthos? She could only assume he was suspended. And yet, he hadn't come looking for her as was his habit. He was always the one to make amends, to melt the ice between them by saying something funny and making her laugh. He knew how to make her forget all her anger and reserve. But he never came.

She buried her face in the crevice of her companion's shoulder.

"Are you thinking of Athos?" he asked.

She was startled.

"Athos? No, I was not. Why would you think that?" she was on the defensive. Her body tensed up. If this was going to be another bout of jealousy, she was ready to pack her things and join a convent.

"Because we often think of the people we love," he spoke softly.

She sniggered.

"Are _you_ thinking of Marianne?" she said in an accusatory tone.

"I am."

"Oh."

What was she expecting? Of course, he was thinking of his friend. Jealousy indeed!

"I was thinking of Porthos," she admitted, "The last time we had a rift like this was when I accepted the Captain's post and then…"

He cut her off and sat up, causing her to roll off his chest unceremoniously, "Wait a minute. You were Captain of the Musketeers?!"

She chuckled, "For a short time. It was a ploy to bring down the Iron Mask and his horrid accomplices."

She went on to tell him the full story. From when the Iron Mask kidnapped Philippe to the major plot that he and his accomplices hacked up to overthrow the King and control France.

In the meantime, her hand had instinctively gone to the golden locket with the ruby in the middle. It occurred to him suddenly that he had never seen her without this jewel around her neck.

"And this?" he gestured to it.

She stared sadly at it.

"An engagement present," her voice was barely audible.

"That man you loved… the one who was assassinated," he began.

"Francois."

He trembled at the name. It was so regal, so fitting. He could just imagine him. Probably someone older, someone with the highest nobility and honor. She deserved no less.

"He was Prince Philippe's tutor."

Gerard went silent. The blood in his veins ran cold. Could it be?

The words he had overheard that night between Rameau and Paul-Francois de Dandurand echoed in his head.

_"You knew the risks very well when you recommended him to be Philippe's tutor. And I assume you knew the risks when you betrayed him. But you needn't feel guilty anymore; his murderer, that insipid Manson, met his demise on Belle-Isle and good riddance."_

"Manson…" he whispered to himself.

Aramis propped herself up on her elbow again, fixing Gerard with a puzzled look.

"That was the name of his assassin. How did you know?"

"I… just put two and two together from your story," he lied. His palms began to sweat. What was wrong with him? Why did he keep lying and keeping things from her? A part of him wasn't sure it was the same person, so there was no point in bringing it up, was there? And yet another part of him, the dominant part just did not want to be connected to someone who could potentially have been responsible for this tragedy.

He cleared his throat and attempted to reroute the conversation, "Did you avenge him, your fiancé?"

"I did," she simply said and smiled, absent-mindedly bringing the locket to her lips.

...

She wasn't sure what time it was when she woke up. It was still dark but she could see his silhouette moving about the room. She rubbed her eyes and sat up.

"What are you doing?"

"I have to leave. I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you. You seemed so tired and spent. I wanted you to get your rest."

He came over to her side. He was almost fully dressed now. All he needed was his belt with his weapons.

Her heart sank.

"Why don't we wait until tomorrow to look for Marianne?" She wanted more time with him. Just a little while longer.

He smiled and stroked her face before he put his lips to her forehead.

"I'm not going to look for her. I'm going to see your Captain."

"What, now? Well then, I will come with you!"

"You will do no such thing. The last thing I want is for you to get into more trouble that you're already in." He leaned closer to her and made a face, and with a formal accent he said, "Think of the disarray France would fall into if the musketeer Aramis were no longer in service."

She laughed. "France?"

"Yes, one must always think of what is in the best interest of France."

She playfully shoved him. "I think you've spent a little bit too much time at the Cardinal's."

He grinned.

"Well, then, think of the disarray _I_ would fall into if you lose your commission over me." He theatrically put a hand to his heart.

She chuckled and kissed his neck. "You're already in much disarray."

He sighed, "That, I am. Many thanks to you."

He kissed her nude shoulder. Then, he looked down at his hands which were resting on his lap, his face resuming its usual gravity.

"You know were right before, about Marianne."

"Hm?"

"I'm afraid I'm the one who needs her more than she needs me," he had never admitted it out loud, but there it was. "Marianne is the only person in the world who has loved me as I am, who has accepted me as I am, never without question or judgement."

She intertwined her fingers with his.

"She's not the only person in the world who loves and accepts you."

Her words took his breath away. He wanted to revel in them, to drink them, to drown in them. Yet, his bliss was short-lived.

"I don't deserve either your love or hers."

"Why would you say that?"

"I broke a promise and I left. I abandoned her when she needed me."

"You came back."

"Yes, but I…"

She put a finger to his lips to make him stop talking.

"I love you too, Aramis," he whispered.

Their eyes met. Despite the darkness, he could see himself reflected with such clarity in those azure eyes of hers, like the surface of a mesmerizing lake in which Narcissus could see himself.

He put his forehead to hers and they stayed like this for a long moment. He felt a new resolve awaken within him, as if he had been given a new life.

Now, after all the physical ecstasies had left them and her fantasies finally fulfilled, she could see clearly what her feelings for him truly meant.

From the moment she had met this man, Aramis had immediately recognized that look of perpetual "tristesse" that hovered around his features like a permanent dark cloud. Even when he smiled, there was always a hidden shadow lurking around. The remnants of a haunting secret, a dark past.

For the first time in her life, she saw herself. Every time she looked into his eyes or was in his presence, she could see herself reflected back at her.

In him, she had seen Renée, at sixteen, wounded and touched by tragedy.

Then she had seen Aramis, ever so reserved, prudish, measuring every word, every gesture, carefully trying not to give herself away and feeling like an imposter all the time. Not being able to be truly close with anyone. She now understood what Marianne's presence in his life must have meant to him. She was an oasis to him; someone to share his burden with, to be free around. But for the longest time, she herself was alone.

Then her secret was finally out and she was face-to-face with the thing she had dreaded the most all these years: humiliation and rejection from her comrades, her friends, her brothers.

What she needed all those years and even now was someone like Marianne. An oasis. And there he was now. She might not love him as a partner, or in the same she loved Athos, or Porthos or D'Artagnan, but she loved him nonetheless. For who he is, for what he was to her, for how he had taken her into his heart without judgement or question.

For now, she was content. It was a successful experiment and she felt appeased and lighter than she had been for the past few months. Somehow, she knew all would be right in the world. And she knew that their lives would remain close from here on out.

She stood at the top of the stairs, dressed only in her chemise and watched him put on his hat and gloves before her left.

"Gerard," she called out to him.

"Yes?"

"Try not to get arrested, will you? I'm quite fed up of prisons for the time being and I'm not sure I'll have the energy to come and rescue you."

"It's always nice to know the extent of devotion of one's friends."

She chuckled.

"Don't worry, I can handle a few Red Guards."

But it wasn't the Red Guards she was worried about.

"Well, I should hope so. Otherwise you're a disgrace and I should have given you the boot."

He chuckled.

"I left the tincture for you on the table with instructions. Use it, please."

"I will." She smiled.

"Aramis?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

She blushed and went back to bed.

FIN


End file.
